Year of the Lord 2060

Written by Jia Zhang

Liam was only six. He lived with his mother in a diminutive townhouse that was ancient and dilapidated; the windows were covered with slime and filth, seeing no soap or water for several decades. The off-black shingles on the roof were shaved fish scales, with barely any remaining. Long, snake-like vines covered one face of the house, burying it beneath a camouflage of moss green. It was an ancient and foreboding manor, and Liam never quite liked it. But he called it home; for it was the only place he could call home for him and his mother.

The rent was cheap; the house belonged to an old crow named Mrs. Tenaby. She was always frowning, always complaining, never smiling. She was a mean woman, mean hearted and mean spirited. There was not a gentle bone within her old, ill-riddled body. Liam and his mother lived in the basement, and paid three and forty a month to Mrs. Tenaby, and what was left over they spent on the bare necessities of food, and clothing, with an occasional toy or book. They did not have much, but it was a good life.

Liam was content for a boy of six.

One night, perhaps it was the middle of the late of the early part of the year; Liam woke to the sound of fireworks in the sky. He sat up from his bed, and rubbed his eyes gently. Pushing his book (Curious George Goes to the City) aside, Liam abandoned his divan and approached beneath the tiny window of the basement. With wide, awakened eyes, Liam look beyond the glass and into the blackness of the sky. Sparkles of red and white and gold and yellow and orange exploded in a frenzy against the ebony ribbon of the universe. Liam watched the show with an odd fascination. He wanted to see more of the kaleidoscope colours.

He opened his door carefully, making sure it didn’t sing with a scratchy voice, and went up the stairs from the basement to the kitchen. He tiptoed across the cool linoleum kitchen floor, the tiles checkered of black and white. Liam lifted the rose curtains, and peered out into the world.

The sky sparkled of fireworks, and the loud booming voice hidden in the darkness grew strident. Then, suddenly, with one flourishing cry of white and yellow, the sky broke open, the Earth shuddered and trembled in fear and anticipation, the house rattled and quivered in trepidation. Ornaments fell off the shelves, tables skidded along the floor; but Liam did not move. He wanted to see the lights.

“Oh my God! Liam!”

The boy turned to see his mother rush up, her nightgown fluttering gently against the air. She holds him from behind, binding him to her tightly as the mother and son gazed up at the exploding sky of colours.

“Mommy...it’s like fireworks!” said the boy.

The sky boomed a thunderous cry, of hated anger and sorrow. It was a cry of desperation and fear, the distant voice of a people that has been and will always be lost. Despite the booming ferocity of the noise, it was only perceived with scrutiny and curiousity, and not taken seriously at all. Liam’s mother held him closely, her arms warm and soft against him. She smelled of lavender and vanilla, he would always remember, and her hair was the colour of amber. Her eyes were a bright blue, and masked into other hues of sapphire throughout the year. Her skin was always soft and smooth like moonbeams, with bits of flesh brown tainting a pattern upon her cheeks. Liam would always remember her for that kind smile, that melodic voice, and the way she smelled.

“It’s all right, baby. It’s going all right.”

He would always remember his mother.

The sky exploded, and the world shuddered and broke apart into ash and dust. A light of great enormity engulfed the whole of everything; and it all crumbled to the sound of thunder and lighting. The world burned; the world ate itself up, and vomited out the entrails.

When Liam awoke, he found himself lying under his mother. Her arms hugged around him protectively. He stared up at her in mystification. Her eyes were wide open, the hues of cobalt dull and glassy. Her face was stricken of a white illness, completely pale and void of any rose or peach. She was taut and limp, almost as if she were a manikin, her flesh and bones made of plastic; her skin was too cold and stiff. Her clothes were torn and ripped, her amber hair a tangled mesh of thorns. With a timidly small hand, Liam reached up and touched his mother’s face as droplets of crimson tears flowed from her eyes.

“Mommy?” he spoke tenderly.

She did not reply.

“Mommy? Why aren’t you talking Mommy?”

Was mother asleep, drowned like a sleeping beauty inside a splendid dross coma? The child did not know. He brushed her azure spheres closed with his small hands; mother should sleep, he thought, for she worked too hard this morning. He would wake Briar Rose later.

Finding a small crevice between a piece of fallen wood and his mother’s arm, Liam wiggled his way from beneath her, and crawled out of the desolate pieces of wood, and pink fluff, and stone. Liam almost tripped as he climbed his way amongst the wreckage of the house, but he finally found his way out of the maze. He dusted off the dirt from his clothes, his face and his hair. Then, finally, he turned his gaze and surveyed the scene before him.

It was all gone—the houses, the lawns, the cars, the buildings, the people. It was all gone. Everything was red and black, and the air smelled of copper and something burning. It was all in shambles, pieces of wrecked bones, the carcass of a mangled civilization.

Liam gazed at the world with great curiousity.

A boy of six, Liam watched everything end, and watched everything begin.

fin

Author's Note: The year 2060 was predicted by Sir Isaac Newton to be the year when the world ended.